Hazel
I stood outside the venue, watching every car that turned into the lot.
The queue behind me had been long when I arrived and was now shrinking fast. People were filing in, with their tickets checked, the energy outside already climbing. I had been standing here long enough to feel it in my feet.
Wrestling was not something I would ordinarily pay money to watch. On a very good day, it would not make my list. But anything to spend time with Elvis, to get another hour outside the office where he was slightly less guarded and slightly more human.
It had started this morning on my walk this Sunday when I saw two men selling coffee on the street corner who were deep in conversation about tonight's fight, talking over each other with the kind of enthusiasm that only comes from people wh
